


New Dress

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, New Caprica, usual pwp with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another fluffy/smutty/angsty New Caprica fic that addresses the question that bugs only me: "Why is Laura still wearing the red dress the next morning?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Dress

**Author's Note:**

> _shatter the plate now, crush the glass_  
>  _and all the things I've carried, I put them down at last_  
>  _I keep my promise, some days better than my heart_  
>  _but like little paper valentines this is where we start_  
>  \--Jonatha Brooke, "New Dress"
> 
> This took several turns away from where it started, which was meant to be a fluffy short fic giving one possible explanation for why Laura is still wearing the same clothes the day after the groundbreaking ceremony on New Caprica. Possibly this bothers no one else in the world, but I'm just over here like, whether they frakked or didn't, whether they fell asleep outside or back in her tent, whyyy didn't she stop off for some clean clothes? lol so here's why.
> 
> THANK YOU to Kelcie and Rachel for talking me through some rough moments of self doubt, and THANK YOU to Emily for making a comment that led to the smutty bit, which wasn't part of the original plan, but now I see smut should ALWAYS be part of the plan.
> 
> Thanks for reading pls enjoy :)

Laura stretched, yawned, kept her eyes closed. She pulled her pillow closer, burrowing in. Her head was a fog but vaguely the sense of a dream she'd been having came back to her. It was a good dream; if she could remember the first thing about it she thought she could shut off her brain and return to it. She strained to remember. _[Skin under her teeth; the taste of sweat.]_ She laughed to herself silently at the flash of memory; a sex dream, and how long had it been? Whatever or whoever it had been about, she was twice as interested in remembering now. But the harder she tried to bring it back, the further away it drifted. She was waking up in earnest, and the dream was almost gone.

Resigned to waking but resentful, Laura rolled over to the other side, dropping back to her pillow in frustration. She kept her eyes closed in protest. She felt – not quite _ill_ , but not quite right, either. _Hungover_. In place of the dream the events of the night before began to come back to her, the alcohol and the New Caprican weed and she wondered if she wasn't still under its effects, laughing now as she turned her head back into the pillow. It wasn't like her to let herself go that way, but there had been music and dancing and an unusual feeling of lightness among the fleet that had been infectious and she – yes, she remembered, she had watched it all from the sidelines, trading hits and stories and sips and flirtatious jokes with Bill. _[He couldn't stop staring at her; the man was not subtle.]_ The combination had gone straight to her head and the next morning she was feeling _strange_ , groggy and confused but warm, happy, giddy almost – and, now she thought of it, more comfortable in this rickety, too-small cot than she ever had in four months of waking on it. 

_Bill_. It was good to see him, to be close to him again, whatever their relationship was now, now that he wasn't leading the fleet into battle, and she wasn't leading them at all. They had no reason to see one another now, really – not unless they wanted to. She hardly knew how much she wanted to until they made plans to meet at the groundbreaking. She had no idea how much he wanted to until she caught him stealing his first glance at her. _[That's a nice color on you.]_ He had a playfulness about him she had never seen before, and of all things his smell, the _smell_ of him was what came back to her so clearly now. Strange that in this haze of remembering that was what felt most present to her now, the unremarkable fragrance of the standard-issue soap used aboard the Galactica that she knew, mixed with a personal scent she had never consciously noticed before – natural and good like cut grass or wood chips, something perfectly ordinary that reminded her of the summer days she had spent helping her father in the garden as a child. 

_[A sharp wave of that scent, face pressed against chest; damn that dream.]_

She turned her head more deeply into the pillow, concentrating on the thoughts she wished to entertain and shoving aside the others.She breathed in, attempting to focus her wandering mind. But there is was, that scent again, and she remembered now, she knew the smell of him so well because somehow the night had ended cuddling with Bill Adama under the stars like a frakking teenager. What a thing to forget. She had rambled on about gods-know-what with him, inching closer over she had no idea what period of time, ending wrapped in each other's arms. _[Her instep curling around his ankle, fingers playing with the edges of his jacket, so close she could feel his breath on her skin but how to get closer?]_ Ended there... but she was back in her tent...

Her eyes flew open and she looked to her right, lifting her head from what had not been a pillow at all, but Bill's arm, sprawled across the mattress. He smiled up at her, looking like he had been awake for some time, but as hungover as she felt. There was a nervous edge to his smile, as if uncertain what she would do. But she soon broke out into a grin herself, equally nervous and uncertain, the memories of the night before filling themselves in in a flood. None of it had been a dream. All the confirmation he needed, he circled her back with his broad arm and pulled her down against him again. 

“Good morning,” he rumbled softly into her hair. “Was wondering when you were going to wake up.”

“What time is it?” She asked, as something to say.

“I have no idea. Right now, I don't give a frak.” He placed a kiss against her hair and then, moving closer, against her forehead, his lips lingering tenderly. _[He had kissed her like that lying outside, sweetly, unexpectantly; right then, she had asked him to come in.]_

She adjusted her body against his, with some difficulty finding a comfortable place to lay her head, her hands flitting nervously, grazing the skin of his chest. This all seemed so much stranger than it had the night before. _[Hands touching everywhere, freely, no hesitation, no idea of being wrong or unwanted.] S_ trange, but not unpleasant. Strange, but not concerning, and not undesired. She moved her head to his shoulder and breathed deeply that scent of him, new and yet familiar. That in itself was strange: she found she wanted this. She was in the arms of a man content to hold her all day, and strangest of all, she didn't mind the thought herself.

Gradually she relaxed and they held one another, neither one speaking for a long time, exchanging soft touches and kisses, slowly and silently processing what had happened for themselves, reaffirming it to each other without words. She had no words for this. He did not ask; this seemed to be enough. And for her part, it was not too much. After all, it wasn't strange in the least, she thought, as she draped one arm across his side, pulling herself closer against him. Not strange; only new, and unexpected, and... _right._

“You feel OK?” he mumbled finally, breaking the silence. 

“A little groggy. But I'm OK. You?”

“Headache. Getting worse the longer I'm awake.” 

She lifted herself up on one elbow, kissing his forehead. “Here?”

“More like there,” he said, pointing to his left temple.

She leaned over to kiss him again there, misjudged the distance, and slipped, laughing, falling across his chest.

“I think you might still be a little high,” he said, laughing too, a rumbling she felt pass from his body through hers. 

She folded her arms across his chest, staring directly into his eyes, a dare to herself as much as to him. “Where else does it hurt?”

“Nowhere. Everything else feels great,” he said slyly, crossing his arms around her waist, fixing her there.

“Nowhere else you need me to kiss?”

“I didn't say that.”

She flashed a teasing smirk at him before lowering her lips slowly to his, grazing, slowly exploring. It was not the first time their lips had met, but it was the first time without chemicals or a moment of emotional intensity fueling it, and soberly and unguardedly they kissed. Just Laura. Just Bill. Just because they were here and alive and they wanted to. _[The first needy lunge and him trying to slow her down.]_ They kissed slowly, enjoying the taste and feeling of one another as if they'd never known it before. _[Her hands at his collar, pulling him to her with more force than he'd expected.]_ She cupped his face in her hands, light touches, a fragile and sacred object, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. _[Her hands tangled in his hair, he her captive, willing; her tongue desperately probing.]_ She licked his lips and drew in a breath, somehow surprised, laughed and repeated it, finding the tip of his tongue waiting for her, drawing her in. They kissed sweetly, languidly, with no need for anything else.

Finally Laura pulled back, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, tasting him still upon her. She brushed an unruly strand of hair from his forehead. “We should get out of bed, Bill. Put in an appearance. People will wonder where you slinked off to.”

“I don't care. Do you?”

She pulled back a little more, a smirk on her face intended to hide the fact that she didn't know the answer to his question, not yet. “We have certain responsibilities.”

He frowned slightly. “Not like before.”

“No,” she said softly, lowering her lips to his again. “Not like before.”

She kissed him more deeply, wanting to put to rest whatever concerns he had that he wasn't voicing, whatever concerns of her own she was barely registering, wanting to get back to that easy understanding between them, at least for now. At least convince him she wanted to. That everything he did not know, and everything they were before, didn't have to matter now. If it turned out to be a lie, she would atone for it another day.

Apparently satisfied, he unclasped his hands from around her waist, and with an exaggerated groan of regret she sat up, perched on the edge of the cot while she fished around under it for her slippers with her toes. She surveyed the damage they had done the night before, clothes strewn about everywhere. _[Stumbling, laughing and clawing at one another, clumsily and eagerly stripping each layer, kissing newly exposed skin.]_ She jumped when she felt his hand on her, reverently tracing the outline of her spine, the side of one breast. She hadn't realized until then that she'd made no effort to cover herself – pointless as it would have been, she never wanted anyone to see her the next morning, she had always wanted them gone, _gone_ , didn't they understand it was _over_ – but now it was Bill, and he could stay if he liked, and he could look at her if he liked, and he could touch her if he liked. 

She shook her head, standing. Not everything had to mean something. Until it did.

She traced a reverse path back to the tent opening, picking up each article of clothing and remembering with a wicked smile some hazy detail of how each was lost. Her panties. _[How she had shuddered and clutched at him as he dropped to his knees and took her in his mouth then and there.]_ His trousers and boxers. _[Both stripped to his knees in one sure movement, his cock springing free amusingly; she laughed into his mouth as she grasped him tightly.]_ Her skirt and camisole. _[He had taken an age to peel it off her, lips and tongue and teeth trailing behind his hands, one nipple and then the other in his mouth, torturing her.]_ His tanks, and a few steps away his uniform jacket. _[Removed as quickly as she could work the buttons, clumsily shoved off him, taking in his muscular frame for the first time – and the scar bisecting his chest, something had come over her, she kissed its length, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for sparing him, and her, impossibly, allowing them this chance.]_

_[He pulled her up gently and she forgot the prayer as easily as it had come to mind, her mouth hot on his again, all lust and need and clutching touches.]_

She folded his pants and jacket neatly on the chair, resisting the girlish temptation to breathe in deeply the smell of him on his tanks again, or to ask him if she could keep them until the next time. _The next time?_

“You're beautiful, Laura,” he said suddenly, startling her again, but she recovered herself before throwing a smug look over her shoulder at him. She found him watching her with an equally smug expression, taking in every inch of her. 

She turned away again, almost succeeding in hiding the smile he provoked. With less care, she draped her own clothing over the back of the chair, then walked over to her makeshift set of drawers for something clean to wear, conscious of and pleased by his eyes on her the whole time. 

“No, don't do that.” An order, playfully phrased.

“What, put on clothes?” She laughed.

“No – wear the red dress.” He looked her up and down again, a wolfish look in his eye. “I like the red dress.”

“I noticed.”

It was silly but she put it on again, to indulge him, to please him, half-conscious that as a motivating force this was unprecedented. But he was so easily pleased, so eager, she could not deny him. She put on a little show for him as she did so, posing, flouncing (gods, this was so unlike her; she must still be high – unless...), making sure he knew she wore nothing underneath this time. That when they went back outside, rejoined the fleet, presenting themselves as sober, selfless leaders, he would know she stood beside him naked but for that thin layer of red fabric, the shade of red that already made his blood run hot. He would wait for moments when no one was watching to grab her ass and she would shy away, a coquettish look of admonishment on her face: _Wait until next time, Bill..._ Next time. She had decided.

“Wear it again next time, too.” He had, too.

She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching giving her true reaction away. “Are you going to come see me? Am I the girl you go to see on shore leave now?”

He tried to suppress a smile of his own. “Yeah. If you want to be.”

“I can't wear this forever.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“No chance of wearing it out. When I come see you, Laura, you won't be wearing anything most of the time.”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he said this, one hand reaching out to her. She found she could not resist. She walked back over to where he sat now on the edge of the cot and positioned herself between his legs, her hands resting on his shoulders, taking in the sight of him as greedily as he had, committing him to memory. She flinched again when he reached out to touch her waist, her ass, trailing the hem of her dress down her legs. She closed her eyes, relaxing again as he touched her. They had come to some sort of silent agreement about it. It wasn't just sex or they wouldn't be here, now, not like this. It was good. Don't question it. Perhaps he knew this already last night, or before, perhaps long before. 

“You do look awful.” She laughed at him, running her hands through his hair in a vain attempt to fix it into place. _[Her hands threaded through his hair as she rode him, clenched in her fists when she leaned down to kiss him, pulling hard as she came.]_ “How's the headache?”

He grimaced. “Worse.”

“I'd say Doc Cottle has some remedies, but I'm not sure you'll trust anything that grows in this soil again.” 

“The weed was good. Probably mixing it with all the alcohol that did it. That, or you slamming my head against the shelf there.” He inclined his head toward the bookshelf at the foot of the cot.

“Did I?” She laughed again as she remembered. _[She repositioned herself on top of him, taking him in again, overwhelmed, pushing him down, too hard.]_ She leaned forward, circling his neck with her arms, kissing the back of his head, now giggling into his hair, giggles turning into sighs as he pressed his lips against her neck, her collarbone, his hands on her ass drawing her closer.

“Come here,” he whispered, and understanding his meaning she moved to straddle his legs, sitting in his lap with her arms around his neck, his arms tight around her waist, holding her there.

She placed a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. “You'd better suit up, Admiral.”

“In a minute. Still can't decide if I like this dress better on you or on the floor.”

“Bill...” There was a warning edge to her voice, but she leaned down to kiss him again, deeply, resting her forehead against his. _[Her forehead against his when she came for the last time, holding him inside her, ragged breaths into each other's open mouths.]_

“I want you again, Laura.” The edge in his voice, the growing hardness she felt beneath the fabric of her dress underlined his words.

“What about your headache?” She kissed his cheek, a little growly laugh at the back of her throat, teasing him. “You look like hell.” Kissed his jaw. “Not sure you're up for it.” His chin.

“Hurts like hell.” He inclined her lips toward his again, one finger at her chin exerting the slightest pressure. “Distract me.”

“Who needs Doc Cottle's remedies?” 

“Exactly.”

She kissed him again, hard, opening her mouth to him as she pulled herself forward on his lap, pressing her pelvis against his, both groaning slightly at the renewed contact, sensitive from the night before. His hips thrust upward reflexively, needing her, and she ground herself against him, their kisses already becoming sloppy and uncoordinated, all conscious thought now registering below. His hands at her knees, he pushed the skirt up her legs, his large hands slowly caressing her thighs to her hip where he paused a moment, waiting for the little whimper of impatience he already knew would come, and when it did, obligingly he moved his hands around to her ass, freeing the fabric where it gathered there and draping it across his knees. He moved his hands around to the front, one again resting at her hip, the other slowly, torturously slowly, combing through her hair, parting her folds and stroking her outside.

“So wet already...” he whispered.

“Still wet from last night,” she corrected him, laughing, but her arousal was intense and growing, ready and needing him too, and she bucked against his fingers as he toyed with her but flitted around the places she ached to be touched.

He withdrew his fingers and tugged at the front of her skirt, pulling up the thin layer of fabric that separated them and arranging it as high up on her hips as he could, wanting to watch as she worked with and against him. 

“On. I think I like the dress better on,” he mumbled, a chuckle that ended in a hard grunt as he ran his fist twice up and down his hard cock, coating himself in her wetness. 

She reached down and swatted his hand away, gripping him as she raised and lowered herself, positioning his cock at her entrance, a loud satisfied sigh escaping her bared throat as she took him in one slow glide downward. He buried his face in her neck as she held him there, still, enjoying the feeling of him filling her, thick and straining inside of her, throbbing with need. She knew it would be over quickly this time, would happen only once more before he left her, she did not know when he would be back and she would miss this, she would miss _him_ , and so she held him there, as long as she could. And then she moved. 

She shifted her hips as they found their rhythm and he adjusted accordingly, both responding to one another, unconsciously attentive to the feedback, learning each other's bodies. She crossed her legs behind him and grasped his shoulders for leverage, leaning back slightly, pulling herself harder against him as he thrust against her shallowly. “Yeah, Bill...” she whispered as it clicked into place.

The sensation was different from the night before, from this angle neither could frak with long, fast strokes like the first time; they moved against one another in slow concert, shallow, more intense movements, everything more intimate as they held and kissed and stroked one another without breaking contact for a moment. His hands roamed her body, caressing her back, teasing her nipples through the fabric of the dress ( _frak this dress after all_ , she thought), causing her to shiver as both hands slowly descended down her sides, finding the ticklish spots. His hands landed at her hips and grasped her, not dictating her rhythm but pulling her harder against him at the end of each thrust. She nodded at his questioning glance and rested her head against his forehead again; _yes, this was good, yes, like that, yes, don't stop, more, harder._ It hit her clit hard when he did that and must have increased the friction for him; as soon as she noticed she was breathing harder, panting with each thrust, she realized he was too, a catch in his throat, trying to swallow the sounds she was dying to hear.

“Are you close, Bill?” One hand curled into his hair at the base of his neck, fingertips kneading his skin, imploring him, her other arm draped around him and holding on tightly.

“Yeah,” the syllable escaping his lips in a heaving breath.

She pulled herself up straighter, kissing him full on the mouth again, gasping for breath and kissing him again, her pace quickening, eliciting a groan from him. “Real close?”

“Yeah...” He was distracted now, unable to match her kisses, his hips moving erratically. She was close, too, but she wanted to join him. 

She replaced her lips with one slender finger which he took eagerly into his mouth, sucking and licking her as she stroked his face. She removed it again and he watched with a fascination that was endearing as she moved her moistened finger between them, stroking her clit right where she needed it.

“Oh, frak, Laura...” he groaned as he watched her touch herself, throwing her head back in pleasure as the little noises that signaled her oncoming release began. The sensory overload drove him wild, the sound and the sight and the feeling of her, and he buried his face in her neck again and pulled her hard against him one last time as he came, hard, a stream of grunts muffled against her skin.

She collapsed in his arms as he pulled her down, her orgasm coming moments later as he was still twitching within her, her own hand taking her there and his response sending her over the edge. She let out a sort of low whine she wasn't sure even she had heard before, and she didn't care who heard now, this was too strong, too good, too right.

They held one another for long silent moments, hard breaths against hot, sweaty skin, still rocking slightly against one another, enjoying the sensation of being joined and the last fading pulses of orgasm. When their breathing had nearly returned to normal, he pulled back and smiled at her, that slightly nervous, slightly smug smile again, dumb and almost boyish. It made her heart leap all over again and she closed her eyes from it, leaning in and kissing it away. 

“How's your head?” she whispered, resting her cheek against his.

“Worse.” She could feel his lips curl into a smile against her skin. “But worth it.”

They kissed and touched lazily until he had to withdraw from her. Sighing, she disentangled herself from his arms and carefully stood, her hips aching slightly from the unaccustomed angle. She put her skirt right again as she walked away from him.

“Laura...?”

She froze, something in his voice a warning to her. _Don't say it. Don't ask me. Don't ruin this. Just let it be._ She turned around and waited, her face impassive.

He was watching her carefully, studying her. The way he looked at her alone was breaking her down, she felt it happening just standing there – the ways he knew her, the ways he wanted to know her. The ways she thought she could want to be known. It was terrifying, but the way he looked at her, the fear simply melted away.

“That _is_ a nice color on you.”

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment; she understood. In the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes, the gentleness, the circumspection – he could have said anything and she would have understood his meaning now. He had meant it when he said those words yesterday. He had probably meant it when he said any number of little words to her before.

_[I love you, he had said the words, gasped them, clutching her to him, moments before he came.]_

She let the breath out. It did not scare her. 

She laughed, a genuine laugh from deep within, not knowing how to respond, but not hiding from it either. “Well, thank you, Admiral,” she said flirtatiously with a wicked twist of her hips, tossing his uniform to him.

She busied herself as he put his uniform on, stealing glances at him as she cleaned herself up, found her sandals, ran her hands through her hair – anything to release the energy coursing through her. She savored the last looks at that body that had left hers so thoroughly humming, that man who had made this feel right for perhaps the first time in her life. The military precision of his movements fascinated her, his posture, the meandering way he walked as he buttoned his cuffs. The little things about him that were and were not new she would keep with her now.

Having pulled himself together as well as he could, he walked over to her, his eyes darkly serious. She understood him. He did not need her to name this; he only needed to know he was not alone in it. She smiled for him, nodded. 

He nodded back, that boyish grin coming over him again. He offered her his arm. “Shall we, then?”

“Yes.” She linked her arm through his, and held on. 


End file.
